


Shattered Sparks, Healing Hands (Ver. 2)

by teh_gelfling



Series: Shattered Sparks, Healing Hands [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Abuse, Kinkmeme, M/M, Mpreg, Slash, Slavery, Spark Sex, Sticky Sex, read at your own risk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:39:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teh_gelfling/pseuds/teh_gelfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the kinkmeme! Prompt <a href="http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/10462.html?thread=11552734#t11552734">Here</a></p><p>Second of two fills for this prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Read at your own risk. I don't know exactly how squicky some parts of this may be to some, as I'm nigh un-squickable. Things that many would run screaming from are run-of-the-mill or even full-on kinks to me, and I forget that others are disturbed by them. I really don't want to warn for too much because it may lessen the impact when certain things come up. That said, here are the warnings I can give: Noncon, mechpreg (although this comes in later), sticky, slash
> 
> Apparently I've been feeling quite dark recently, because when I saw this prompt on the kinkmeme, immediately two stories popped into my head. This is the first started, but last finished. Is it a bad thing that I find writing this kind of story to be rather cathartic? *hides*
> 
> I'm terribly sorry, OP, for exactly how long it's taken to get this posted. I wanted to make absolutely certain that I would actually finish it, since I have a habit of not completing things that I begin to post when I'm still working on them. This story has driven me insane, or close enough to it so as to make no difference. A lot of the time, neither Sides nor Ratch would speak to me, and then all of a sudden it was like I couldn't get them to shut up. I had to take breaks from this, or I think it truly would have driven me crazy. As I write this, it's still not completely finished, but it's close enough that I know it will be. It's also one of my longer stories (if not the longest), coming in at the moment at over 12k words. I do hope you enjoy it, OP. I have.

Sideswipe watched Starscream as he streaked across the sky, leading his mechs on yet another assault on Prime's battle group. His processor calculated distance and trajectories to get him to the Seekers for some well-earned Jet Judo. The bond with Sunstreaker reverberated with primal glee as the yellow mech ripped a Decepticon's arm off and beat him with it.

Just another battle.

He ignited his jetpack and chased after the fliers, landing hard on Dirge and clinging for dear life when the blue jet immediately barrel-rolled. A black hand punched through cobalt armour and gripped bunches of wires and – lucky him – some kind of fluid line.

He felt Sunstreaker's attention shift from the downed Decepticon and quickly focus on another target. _The_ target. The one mech everyone gunned for, but never managed to take out. Not even Prime.

Megatron.

Sideswipe sent a wordless warning over the bond and got no response, as predicted. The mech was pretty single-minded. He returned his own focus to the task at hand – disabling Dirge and avoiding falling off to his serious-injury-if-not-death. He yanked the fistful of cabling out viciously.

The conehead trine leader abruptly banked and went into a nosedive, trailing smoke. Sideswipe readied himself to leap clear...

...and was thrown when the shock of Sunstreaker's overwhelming pain hit. The red mech clutched at his spark as he plummeted, a brief scream of agony slipping through his lips. He fell, unable to think, unable to act, to save himself, through the turmoil over the bond.

Frantic comm chatter exploded over the line, but nothing made sense. There weren't any words he could recognise, just a bunch of different voices shouting gibberish. The wind whistled through the gaps in his armour, cooling his overheating systems and numbing the pain. _That_ made sense. He could understand what he could feel.

He dully watched as some flight-frame – he couldn't recall which, or even if they were Autobot or Decepticon – swooped beneath him. He was gently caught up on the flier's cockpit, where he curled into a ball, still reeling from the sudden shock. Must be Autobot, then.

More chatter, possibly directed at him, but he couldn't respond even if he could comprehend the question. His vocaliser had frozen up and it felt like his chest was going to implode. His world consisted of pain, noise, and more pain.

Then the flyer was shot and he was falling, falling to the ground, and it rushed up at him and he had no time to brace and he couldn't bring himself to care.

 _Anything_ to stop the pain in his spark.

He crashed about three hundred metres from where Sunstreaker lay limp and broken, chest mangled from the blast of the fusion cannon Megatron wielded. He jerked a few times as his motor control systems reset, then struggled to his hands and knees. His left leg didn't seem to want to cooperate. He couldn't feel it, and it kept giving out on him. When he looked, he saw why.

It was _gone_.

This revelation made him furious – at the Seeker who'd shot him; at Megatron, who'd shot Sunstreaker and thereby caused him to be shot. But most of his anger was aimed squarely at Sunstreaker. He watched as Ratchet skidded to a stop beside the golden mech, already focussed on the damage.

Sideswipe pulled himself across the rough terrain, his ire growing with every metre. He felt it each time Sunstreaker's spark guttered, the pain in his chest blooming anew. But Ratchet would save him. He always did.

He was close – within five metres – when the golden warrior's spark went out and never came back. Ratchet railed at the already-greying mech, shouting denials and obscenities and cursing Primus, Megatron, and the whole damn war. Sideswipe felt the bond between himself and Sunstreaker break with a sudden _snap_ , tearing at his spark. The pain was indescribable, but there was a sudden feeling of freedom beneath it, through it, as the loss of a heavy burden.

Suddenly, he could do what he wanted without fear of reprisal. He was _free_.

Silently, he moved on to the corpse, face twisted in rage. Ratchet pulled out of the way, obviously assuming he wanted to grieve over the mech. Or maybe die at his side, since everyone knew that if one twin died, the other would soon follow. Well, he could assume all he wanted.

As soon as he was close enough, he reached for the empty spark chamber and laid his hand on it. "Never again," he hissed as his fingers dug into the cooling metal, crushing it mercilessly, then jerked it out of the chest cavity. He continued to rip components from the frame of the mech everyone thought had been his brother, his spark-twin, until the white medic recovered from the shock and hauled him bodily away.

Decepticons and Autobots alike paused in their fighting to watch as the crimson mech screamed and struggled against Ratchet, his cries of rage echoing across the battlefield. But for all of Sideswipe's strength and his size advantage over the medic, he couldn't break free. Ratchet was just plain heavier and stronger, and, with the one leg missing, the CMO had leverage.

"Aid! Get your aft over here and help me!" Ratchet roared. The younger medic rushed to assist, sedative already in hand, looking for opportunity to administer it.

Sideswipe thrashed wildly, blind with rage, still struggling to free himself from the ambulance's hold and continue his destruction of Sunstreaker's frame. First Aid finally managed to inject the sedative, and the Lamborghini slowly wound down as the drug took effect. His movements became sluggish, uncoordinated, and he eventually sagged in Ratchet's arms.

Optimus approached, the Decepticons having cheerfully departed with their target while everyone was distracted. The Autobot leader wore a fierce scowl that would be much more at home on Sunstreaker or Megatron's face. "Sideswipe, explain yourself!" he thundered, looming over the woozy mech.

Sideswipe remained silent, looking at Prime defiantly from his slouch against Ratchet, who held him fast, daring the big mech to do something. There was really no point in explaining, no one would – _could_ – understand.

"I'm waiting."

"'N yull... keep waitin'. Wouldn' unnerstand, 'nyw'y." Sideswipe's words emerged slurred and with what seemed to be great effort.

"Try me."

The frontliner snorted, but remained otherwise quiet.

"If you will not give me a reason for this abhorrent behaviour, whether it's good or not, I _will_ lock you in the Hole until I can stand to look at you again. I will not have you or _any_ of my Autobots desecrating the corpse of another. Especially that of his own brother."

"'S _not_... m' _**brother**_." Complete hatred oozed through that growled statement, and his optics dimmed and flickered as the sedative continued to pull him under. "I was... his... slave." And then he dropped into unconsciousness.

*****

"You said you were Sunstreaker's slave. I realise that you likely couldn't tell the truth about your... 'relationship' if that was indeed the case. But why is it that you two told everyone you were twins? Why not just lovers or bondmates? Or something else entirely?" Prowl's questions were genuinely curious, his doorwings set in the position that most every mech on the _Ark_ had come to realise meant he was truly confused. Disturbed, even. It didn't happen often.

Sideswipe stayed stubbornly silent, avoiding all optic contact. His EM field bristled with anger and his body language was overly defensive. Behind Prowl, Ratchet shifted his weight to his other foot, monitoring the red warrior's physical as well as emotional responses.

"You do realise that you're not helping your case any. Prime _will_ put you in the Hole if you won't talk. The only reason you're not there now is that Ratchet refuses to let them take you." The tactician sighed, wings flicking tiredly. "I _am_ on your side in this, Sideswipe. I want to help you, but if you don't give me anything, I _can't_."

Sideswipe snorted rudely. "Sure. Since when have _you_ been on my side for anything?" he snapped. "You sit in your neat little office on your neat little aft and keep everything in nice, tidy order. But when something upsets that order, like – oh I don't know – a prank?, first mech you jump on is me. Every fragging time, even though _I_ never really did anything. All the nasty ones were all _him_."

"I may be one of the few who can actually understand something of what you've been through. I have some experience with this kind of situation from my time with the Enforcers. It wasn't common, but there were slaves still, not only in Kaon and the rougher cities, but also in Praxus and even Iacon. I _can_ help, but you have to cooperate." He reached out a hand to touch the frontliner's shoulder, an attempt to connect, to comfort.

Sideswipe flinched away violently. "Get rotated," he snarled. Ratchet's sensors registered a brief, sharp spike in his systems at the touch and he frowned.

Wings snapped up into a sharp vee in offence and frustration. "You'll wind up – "

The crimson mech cut him off angrily. "I _know_ where I'll wind up, and I _don't_ _care!_ No one else does, either. I don't want to talk about him or anything he did. He's lower than a turborat's ass, and that's all I'm saying. Slag off."

"Sideswipe!" Prowl exclaimed, exasperated. The Lamborghini didn't acknowledge him at all.

"He can't hear you. He turned his audials off," Ratchet murmured for the tactician's benefit. "Prowl," the medic touched a white shoulder and continued when he had the mech's full attention. "He _was_ a slave; the coding is there. I checked while he was sedated. And it was active. It's not any more. I'm not sure it can be purged, though. Not without damaging his processor irreparably."

The tactician merely nodded acknowledgement, then left the medbay, a deep frown etched on his normally impassive features.

The CMO himself was quite disturbed by this surly, sullen mech on the berth in front of him. Sides was always... well, not exactly happy all of the time – that title belonged to Bluestreak – but usually cheerful and outgoing. The life of the party. Was this the real Sideswipe or just a product of the mental chaos created when the slave code's control over him was broken?

He had no idea what the crimson frontliner had suffered at the hand of his "twin". And clearly he _had_ suffered. Why else would he tear the mech apart?

Ratchet shook his helm and sighed deeply. He'd talk to Prime. Sideswipe had obviously been badly abused throughout his time with Sunstreaker, so there were extenuating circumstances. Surely Optimus would reduce or even decide against punishment. After all, slavery was against everything their leader stood for.

The least he could do was try.

*****

_Sideswipe stepped hesitantly into their quarters on the Ark, immediately wary of the dim. Despite Sunstreaker's bright colouration, he was quite adept at hiding almost in plain sight, especially in low light. Movement just beside his left shoulder was all the warning he got as his master jerked his arms behind his back and clamped a pair of illegal high-powered stasis cuffs on his wrists._

_Suddenly, he could barely muster the energy to stand and the golden mech took immediate advantage. A heavy hand forced Sideswipe to kneel, the impact jarring his knees and hips. He remained silent, knowing from past experience that the slightest noise from him would result in a fearsome beating. That seemed to be exactly what Sunstreaker wanted today, however._

_A yellow hand gripped one of Sideswipe's sensory horns hard, talons digging in and leaving little curls of metal in their wake. The red mech winced, vents catching at the pain, but managed to keep quiet. Sunstreaker scowled and shoved the black helm to the ground with a sickening thud._

_A small grunt escaped Sideswipe's vocaliser and he felt the thrill of satisfaction over the sparkbond with his master. Then a foot connected with his midsection and all he knew next was **pain**._

Sideswipe leapt off the sofa with a feral snarl and all weapons online, primed to fire. Several mechs hit the lounge deck and others just stared, frozen in shock. Trailbreaker threw up a forceshield around the crimson warrior to keep any potential shots contained.

Ironhide charged through the door a moment later, bellowing for bots to get out of his way. The forceshield was hastily dropped and Sideswipe's cloudy blue optics cleared just in time to see a wall of dark red rushing him. They crashed to the deck in a tangle of limbs.

"What the frag?" the Lambo asked with a shake of his helm. "Get off me, 'Hide."

Warily, the van rose. Sides got up slowly, rubbing the back of his helm with one hand and his aft with the other. "Primus, you're heavy. Ouch."

"What th' frag was that? Yeh were 'bout ta blow th' room ta kingdom come. Red commed meh an' Ah got here fast as Ah could. Jus' glad Ah was already on ma way."

"Why would – " he began, then looked at his hands. "Oh. Slag. Weapons..." He sighed and subspaced all of his armaments with a deeply apologetic look. "I suppose I should report to Prowl for reprimand, huh?"

"Him or Red. Better git on w'it. An' Ah'll warn ya, Red's havin' kittens."

Another sigh, defeated. "I'll bet."

*****

_~*~Past~*~_

He knelt on the floor in the medbay recovery room, helm bobbing over Sunstreaker's spike as he worked it. He wasn't supposed to be out of the berth, and Caliper would have a fit if she knew. But the golden monster ordered, and Sideswipe had to obey.

Not that he wanted to. He never _wanted_ to, but he had no choice but to comply. Slave coding had been installed along with his mechling upgrades, then he'd been given as a gift – or maybe payment, he still wasn't sure – to the famous artist by his own creators. He'd been verbally and physically abused from the first orn, unable to fight back. He'd tried the first time Sunstreaker hit him, but when he struck back at the larger mech reflexively, he was sent to the ground in a screaming, thrashing fit of pain by his new coding.

With his final upgrades came the interfacing.

Sunstreaker was overcharged and aroused. He grabbed Sideswipe and threw him onto his recharge berth, following hungrily. The red mech's codpiece was ripped off and he cried out in pain. It only seemed to encourage his master, who released his spike and growled, "Suck it, glitch."

And he did, or at least his frame tried. The thick black and gold spike was simply too much, and he gagged as it hit the back of his throat. He attempted to pull away, but was held firmly in place by a yellow hand. Sunstreaker's optics were bright as he watched his length disappear into his slave's mouth, moans of pure pleasure escaping every time the throat tubing contracted around him.

Hips jerked and buried the spike to the hilt in Sideswipe's mouth. The mech made a pained squeal as delicate tubing was bruised, and struggled to get away. Sunstreaker pinched a sensory horn in punishment, prompting a sharp squeal of pain, and began roughly taking his pleasure of the red mech. His spike slid deliciously between lips soaked with oral lubricant, while denta scraped over sensor nodes in the metal skin.

"Mmm... That's _good_. And don't even think about biting me, half-bit."

Sideswipe moaned in pain, from both the rough treatment and the surge of punishment that came from 'disobeying' an order. He'd not even contemplated biting until it was mentioned and then it was too late to stop. The vibrations did amazing things to Sunstreaker's spike. He pounded harder into the warm mouth surrounding him, wringing more cries out and sending him spiralling higher.

Overload hit and Sideswipe felt every spurt of the hot, sticky liquid on his raw throat as burning pain. Sunstreaker continued to thrust through his release, grunting with each throb of his spike as it spilled his load. He pulled away and studied his slave for a moment, taking in the pained expression, the optics pleading no more. Then he threw Sides down on his belly and pulled the black hips up to his.

The younger mech suddenly realised what was coming and scrambled away and off the berth, inadvertently kicking his master as he did. Sunstreaker roared in fury and grabbed the nearest loose object – a heavy decorative lamp – and hurled it at the escapee. It connected with Sides's temple and he dropped like a lead balloon.

Sunstreaker stalked over to the semi-conscious mech and grabbed him by the throat, hauling him to his feet. "If you ever pull a stunt like that again," he growled, "I'll drop you in the Dead End and the Empties can have you." He let go and Sideswipe crashed back to the floor in a heap. The golden mech pulled his frame around until he was satisfied, then thrust without preamble into the virgin opening.

Sides screamed through his abused vocaliser as his seal was ripped through. His dry valve stretched impossibly wide, and the edges tore and bled around the invading spike. It felt like he was being split in two. The sensormesh lining of his valve registered waves of pain as the huge rod scraped over every centimetre and hit the inlet to his gestation tank. Tiny capillaries burst, energon blood oozing around Sunstreaker and finally beginning to ease his passage.

Sunstreaker reached around and felt for the little tab of the spike seal. He pulled it off when he found it, then proceeded to play with the red mech's sheathed spike, coaxing it out and to full arousal. He could feel the valve around him lubricating and felt a split second pang of disappointment, but shrugged it off. Sideswipe's vocaliser had given out, but he knew any noises that would have been produced now would be of reluctant pleasure mixed with pain and it made him that much harder just thinking about it.

Sunstreaker could feel the charge building in them both and began fingering his valve. "You are not allowed to overload. Not this cycle. Or next. If you're good, and I mean _very_ good, I might let you the cycle after.

"In the meantime, I'm going to frag you in every hole, in every position I can think of so you'll learn your place. Which is, clearly, beneath me and taking my spike any way I want it."

Sideswipe made a purely electronic sound, akin to a wail, as he was pounded into submission.


	2. Chapter 2

_~*~Present~*~_

_Sideswipe ducked behind the greyed-out shell of a large Decepticon grounder as missiles streaked past to detonate against the place he'd been standing just a klik ago. Debris from the blast clattered and pinged off his armour, a few chunks large enough to leave good-sized dents. He could see Sunstreaker a short distance off, firing at the Seeker trine and swearing up a storm. One blast sheered a wing off one of the fliers, and it went spiralling down to crash in the ruins of an old manufacturing plant._

_The rest of their team finally made it to their position and the group steadily drove the enemy force back until the retreat was called. The team leader assigned the frontline twins to locate and, if necessary, capture the downed Seeker, a task the golden mech seemed to look forward to. There was a predatory smile on his face as they headed out, and Sideswipe could tell he was plotting something._

_Whatever it was wouldn't be pleasant._

_They reached the destroyed factory swiftly, searching for signs of life. It was easy to tell where the flier had gone down, and even easier to find him. A trail of energon led from the crash site to the pitiful shelter of the hidey-hole the Decepticon had crawled into._

“ _Oh, good, he survived._ _Pull him out.”_

_Sideswipe's frame moved on its own, following the order without hesitation. He crouched down in front of the meagre shelter and his black hand grabbed the Seeker by a thruster. He hauled back, prompting a strangled scream of pain as the mangled wing dragged over the broken ground._

“ _Now drag him over here. We're going to have some fun.”_

_Sideswipe cringed internally with each howl as the Seeker's battered body scraped over every bit of metal sticking out of the rough gound. He wished he could just put the poor mech out of his misery already. There was no point in capture; he was too injured to survive the trip back to base. Sunstreaker's orders stood, though, and there was nothing he could do for the poor mech._

_The Seeker was flipped onto his back, his golden optics flickering from the pain jolting through his systems. Sunstreaker sauntered up to his side and crouched down by a shoulder vent, lips twisting into a cruel mockery of a smile. “Well, aren't you lucky. You get to be my plaything this orn. Isn't he lucky, Sides?”_

No. _“Yes.” His voice was hollow, almost dead-sounding. If Sunstreaker noticed, he didn't say anything, too focussed on his toy._

_A golden finger ran down the edge of the shoulder vent and traced the turbines on the black chest. The mech shuddered, a tiny whimper escaping. “I don't know anything. Just get it over with.”_

_Cold blue optics flared. “And where would the fun in that be, hmm? No, I think I'll take my time now. See how loud you can scream.” His clawed hand dipped into the turbine well, digging in and extracting a few components with a jerk._

_He continued to toy with the Seeker, causing relatively minor damage in the most excruciating ways he could think of. To his credit, the Decepticon did little more than grunt in pain even when his intact wing was shredded._

_Sunstreaker sat back on his heels and inspected his claws. “Hn, I'm impressed. Little Seeker can take some pain. Didn't think you had it in you, the way you were carrying on when you were brought over.” He grinned. “Let's step it up a notch, shall we? Sideswipe!”_

_The red warrior was at his side in a sparkbeat. He already didn't like where this seemed to be headed._

_Sunstreaker rose smoothly and turned to his 'brother'. “Break every strut in his frame. In fact, just break everything. I want his screams.” He leaned in close and into his audial whispered, “Just like I want yours after this.”_

_His tanks froze and roiled all at the same time. He wanted to protest, to fight this order, but to have a Decepticon - or anyone, really - see him flopping around on the ground when the slave code punished him... He couldn't handle that. He watched as his hands grabbed one of the Seeker's, separating each finger and choosing one at random._

_The smile of pure pleasure on Sunstreaker's face at the cry when that first finger snapped would haunt him for eternity._

When Sideswipe finally shook off the terror induced by the dream-memory, he stood in the middle of the quarters he'd shared with Sunstreaker in a defensive combat stance, armour clamped tight and vents blasting hot air. His arms were locked in piledriver mode and set to strike. He disengaged each combat routine methodically, forcing himself to stand down.

He looked at the berth warily, as a human would a venomous snake. No, he'd get no recharge there. As usual. The entire room was suffocating, full of memories, not a single one of them pleasant. He finally fled the room, not caring where his feet took him, as long as it was away from _there_.

*****

"Sideswipe, what is going on? This is the third time this month that you've been brought down here after you conked out on duty. Why aren't you recharging in your downtime? You're not pulling double shifts, so you should have enough of it." Ratchet was thoroughly annoyed with the crimson frontliner. Worried about him, too, but showing it in his usual abrasive manner. The mech looked utterly exhausted.

The Lamborghini took the griping in stride. The worse the rant, the more it proved he cared. "Can't. Wake right back up." He didn't mention anything about his tendency to wake with guns primed. No need to worry the medic further. "I'll be okay."

"Not if you can't recharge. Now answer the question. What's going on?"

"Nothing." Ratchet levelled a _look_ at him and he threw up his hands in a pose of surrender, simply too tired to argue. "Okay, okay. My processor might be replaying some bad memories when I try to recharge. Kicks me right out of the cycle. That's it. No big deal, right? I can go now." His hand moved through the air in a shallow arc as he rose from the berth he'd been lying on.

" _Sit_ your happy aft back down right now," Ratchet spat. "And stop that. You're well aware those 'mind tricks' don't work on me. You're not going anywhere until I clear you. And that's not happening until you can get a full recharge and defrag cycle in, without medical assistance. So either start talking or start 'charging."

Sideswipe gave the shorter mech a foul hand gesture. "Ain't talking out here where anyone can walk in and hear me. And you don't want me 'charging here, either. Might accidentally wreck the place, then you'd be all pissed off at me, even though I can't help it." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he clamped it shut, but the damage had been done. The medic's optics sharpened and he wished he could just melt into the floor under that gaze.

"And what, _exactly_ ," Ratchet started slowly, intently, each word enunciated with careful precision, "would you be doing to wreck my medbay in your recharge?" Aqua optics, narrowed to slits, bored into the deep cobalt of Sideswipe's.

"Ah..." Dim optics dropped to the deck and black hands fidgeted. "You remember that incident in the Rec room? Few months ago?"

"I remember being regaled with several stories, from several different mechs, involving you and your weaponry," Ratchet said, voice flat.

Sideswipe had the grace to look abashed. "...yeah. That's... basically what I'd be doing," he muttered. "I haven't actually shot anything, though. Not yet," he added defensively.

"They're that bad, hm?" Most of the annoyance had vanished, replaced by sharp concern. Dreams were rare for their kind, nightmares even moreso. To cause such a violent response in one so used to carnage and destruction, the memories had to be horrific indeed for the mech.

The distinct lack of response answered his question. "Sunstreaker? Hmph, of course it is. Stupid question. Alright, let's go. We can talk in my office." Ratchet pulled the warrior to his feet and lightly pushed him in the direction of the office.

Sideswipe baulked at the first step. "No. I don't need to talk, and I don't _want_ to. I can deal with this myself. I always have."

"And how's that working for you? If you went into recharge right now, you wouldn't have any problems?" He shook his helm. "Primus, Sideswipe, you're not alone! You don't _have_ to... to 'deal with this' by yourself!" Red hands gesticulated wildly.

"Yeah? Everyone thinks I'm crazy. I ripped apart my 'brother', remember? If they knew what he'd done, they'd have done the same, but they don't. I won't tell them because I don't want their pity. Their looks of disgust or the shallow words of apology. What do they know? They'd never understand.

"Hardly anyone talks to me. Even you. Jazz seems to avoid me every chance he gets. Prowl doesn't have to discipline me any more except when I lose my temper and go off on someone. Like Tracks last month. And he never socialises, anyway. Bluestreak talks, but it's different now. Awkward. And he talks to _everyone_. Cliffjumper's the only mech who'll hold a full conversation, and that's because he never liked him to begin with. I'm not alone? Pfft! I'm more alone now than when _he_ was alive!" The red mech was clearly beyond frustrated.

"No one has any chance of even _trying_ to understand if you won't explain things to them!" Ratchet snapped, then vented sharply and brushed his field lightly against Sideswipe's in apology. "It sounds to me like you really do need to talk, Sides. Or at least just rant at someone." He cut off as the medbay doors slid open. First Aid walked through, giving a little wave as he spotted the senior medic.

"Hold on. Let me get Aid up to speed on what needs done here, then we can go for a drive. Get away from here for a while."

Sideswipe grumbled and stalked swiftly out the door without a backward glance. White shoulders slumped slightly in defeat and Ratchet turned to brief his apprentice.

*****

"So," a quiet voice said from behind him. "Did you have a destination in mind or were we just going to drive?"

Nearly jumping out of his plating, Ratchet turned around to see Sideswipe leaning on a wall of the corridor outside of medbay. "I thought--"

"That I'd just rejected the offer. Yeah, I did. Then I sat doing absolutely nothing and thought about it. Be nice to get away, even for just a little bit. Pit of a lot better than being bored out of my processor. I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever come out of your lair." The Lamborghini gave a wan smile, tired optics brightening just a bit. "Not saying I'm gonna talk, though."

Ratchet laughed. "I think just getting out of the _Ark_ will be good for you. You haven't left for anything other than what duty required since that battle. That was almost a year ago."

Sideswipe shrugged. "No reason to. Now there is."

Ratchet snorted. "Never thought I'd see the day I would be anyone's reason for anything other than avoiding medbay."

"You might not realise it, Ratch, but you're lots of mechs' reason for a lot of things. And hey, you're _willing_ to spend time with me. In public, no less. Are we going or not?"

"Commissary first. I need some energon, and looks like you might, too."

Sideswipe fell into step with the medic, side by side. Ratchet caught several furtive glances his way, and finally called the Lamborghini on it.

"What do you keep looking at?"

"Nothing," came the quick, innocent-sounding denial. Too innocent, too quick. And he looked away immediately.

Ratchet snorted and shook his helm. "Right." But he left it at that.

*****

Sideswipe didn't talk on that first trip – not about anything important, anyway. But their excursions became a regular thing, and each time they drove away from the base he relaxed a bit more. Sometimes they stuck to the roads, just wandering wherever their tyres took them, travelling in companionable silence until one or the other felt compelled to speak. Other times, Ratchet would have a destination in mind, gleaned from Hound or, of all mechs, Prowl.

In these secluded spots, the conversations eventually became more serious, the Lamborghini seeming to revel in the lack of prying audials. They still skirted the topic of Sunstreaker, but the fact that he was even talking _around_ it was progress in Ratchet's optics.

He quickly found out that the red mech was quite intelligent, not that the medic had ever thought he was stupid. Reckless, maybe, a bit foolish at times, but never stupid. The mech could rival Jazz and Trailbreaker in a prank war, after all. He was also learning that he enjoyed Sideswipe's company.

Very much.

He studiously ignored the little flutters his spark went into when the Lambo would appear out of nowhere bearing energon. Sideswipe brought different blends and grades initially, and finally settled on two after watching and silently judging the medic's reactions. His own best high-grade brew made and appearance when he'd deemed Ratchet was over-stressed, and warmed mid grade with shavings of some metal he couldn't readily identify most other times.

Eventually, it happened at his mere presence. The little smiles he gave Ratchet when no one was looking would set it off. Any of a thousand seemingly-insignificant gestures or words. And then simply the thought of the mech.

"Primus, I'm too old for this," he kept telling himself.

His spark kept telling him otherwise.

_********* _

_~*~Past~*~_

"I won't join the Decepticons."

"You will if I say you will."

Sideswipe knew he would if the issue was pressed; he'd have no choice. He struggled with his coding, which told him _obey_ , and managed to get out a shaky, "Optimus Prime – "

"Optimus Prime is a fool. But I should have guessed the fool would follow another," Sunstreaker sneered, then shrugged. "I don't really care _which_ side I fight on, as long as I _get_ to fight." He was silent for a moment, studying his slave. "Heh. Here, I'll play your little game. We'll go play Autobot. Though there _are_ rules to every game, you know."

Sideswipe had a sinking feeling in the pit of his fuel tank. Sunstreaker smiled.

"Let's see... as far as anyone's concerned, we're twins. Inseparable. You let on that we're anything but, you'll regret it. And believe me, I'll know if you do.

"In exchange for playing Autobot, I'll have you whenever and where ever I want – not like I don't now anyway – but you _won't fight._ Not even a token resistance. In fact," his grin grew more malicious, "you'll _want_ it. Got it?"

Sideswipe's mouth opened and closed, but no sound emerged. He felt sick. The only up-side he could see to this arrangement was that with the Autobots, Sunstreaker wouldn't be able to do too much physical damage to him without coming under suspicion. Mutely, he nodded.

"I can't hear you."

"Yes," he whispered, just loud enough to carry.

Suntreaker's grin was predatory. "Prove it. Right now. Show me how much you want this."

Partially-processed energon rose in his throat at the thought. If he wanted to maybe, eventually, get away from Sunstreaker, he had to be an Autobot. To do that, he _had_ to do this. And to make matters worse, his core temp had shot up at the order, ventilations coming faster to cool himself, and his valve was already producing copious amounts of lubricant. It was humiliating to lose control of his frame like that.

He swallowed hard, forcing his tank to calm, and, bracing himself mentally, proceeded to seduce his master.

*****

"Twins, hmm? Pretty rare." The junior medic on duty, Jumpstart, puttered around, examining Sideswipe as he spoke. "You've had a lot of damage in the past, eh? Lots of welding scars here. I'm guessing you're what, former gladiator?"

"Yup," the red warrior replied dully, not about to reveal where the majority of the scars had truly come from. Not with Sunstreaker looming ominously right behind the medic.

"Frontliner, then. I'll probably be seeing a lot of you." He sighed, resigning himself to the fact. " _Try_ to stay in one piece?"

"Mm."

Jumpstart's optics sharpened. "Is something wrong?"

"Tired. Been up four orns straight." He hesitated ever so slightly, thinking quickly. "Everything here is so... different. Can't shut my processor down." He felt Sunstreaker's approval of the lie. In truth, he'd not been _allowed_ to recharge, a punishment for something he wasn't even sure he'd done. Or not done. Not like it mattered, anyway.

"Hmph. Well. Go recharge. I'll clear your duty schedule for the next orn, medical reasons. Get an extra ration, too." He checked the final readouts on Sideswipe. "You're both healthy enough, aside from your low energy levels. Now go on." The short red medic shooed the twins away and out of medbay.

Sunstreaker shoved Sideswipe into a utility closet halfway to their new quarters. The red mech stumbled and half-fell into the far wall.

"Please, Sunny. Not now," he begged even as his body responded and he was pressed face-first against the wall. Sunstreaker retracted his panel, spike springing to attention, and rubbed against the black aft in front of him.

"You agreed to this, remember? Open up," he ordered.

Sideswipe heaved a sigh as his frame complied, baring his wet valve. He tried not to think about the spike in him or the vile things the golden mech was saying in his audial. He could barely feel anything from his valve anymore, damaged as it was. So Sunstreaker came up with new and creative ways to cause the pained reactions he craved.

A miniature electric prod was shoved into his spike housing and the power turned on for a split second. Sideswipe arched and tried to stifle his scream as energy arced through his over-sensitive spike. He half managed, and heard Sunstreaker laugh behind him.

"You scream like a femme. I like that – it suits you. Sideswipe, my big, ugly femme." Sunstreaker punctuated the statement with a particularly violent thrust.

The mech's overload couldn't come fast enough for Sideswipe, and he was actually relieved when he finally felt transfluid spurt against his ceiling node. Sunstreaker left him there in the tiny closet, exhausted and legs covered in the fluids leaking from his valve. Sideswipe curled up on the floor and let blissful unconsciousness claim him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of Sunstreaker/Bluestreak and a bit of Blue/Sides.

_~*~Present~*~_

"Hey, ready to go, Ratch?" Sideswipe poked his head into the CMO's office only to find it empty.

“Him Ratchet in 'Kwar-an-teen' with him Jazz and him Mirage,” Swoop squawked helpfully from across the 'bay when he saw the Lamborghini looking around. “You Sideswipe want me Swoop to get him Ratchet?” the Dinobot medic-in-training asked, eager to please.

"Oh. Ah, no, Swoop. He's working. Thanks, though." The crimson mech frowned, disappointed. Ratchet was a very busy mech, but he'd always set aside a day once a week for Sideswipe which just happened to be the warrior's day off. And the Countach had brought gelled energon candies this time, which he'd managed to make himself. After several near-disasters, he'd finally gotten a good batch and was eager to see the medic's reaction when he tasted them.

“Me Swoop say him Sideswipe come by?” The mech looked so earnest that it was impossible to deny him.

“Yeah. Oh, hey. Let him know there's a present on his desk?” He ducked back into the office after he'd gotten an agreeable nod. He scrawled a quick note on a scrap of flimsiplast and set it and the tin of sweets directly in front of the monitor where the CMO was sure to see. Swoop was nowhere to be seen when he re-emerged.

He wandered out of medbay aimlessly, unsure of where to go now. He still wasn't exactly welcome amongst the off-shift crew currently in the lounge. Bluestreak had been appropriately horrified, however, and immediately forgave and then _apologised_ to him once Sideswipe's pride broke down and he told the young Datsun _why_.

But Bluestreak was on duty now, so Sideswipe couldn't pester him into finding something to do. Jazz was in quarantine, and Cliffjumper was recharging, so no dice there, either.

He eventually wound up in the bright early-afternoon sunlight outside the _Ark_ , slouched against the side of the mountain. His plating warmed and the heat lulled him into an almost-recharge state, helm tipped forward and optics shuttered. He let his processor fall into defrag mode, having nothing better to do at the moment. Mechs passed back and forth on occasion, barely noticing the crimson warrior, and few actually acknowledged him.

Late in the day, Sideswipe felt another frame settle in next to him, close enough to brush arms. The bubbly field proclaimed the mech to be Bluestreak, though he didn't speak for a while.

"I thought you'd be out with Ratchet today. It's your day off." The Datsun's voice was quiet, almost subdued.

"Nah," Sideswipe answered, trying – and only marginally succeeding – to keep the disappointment from his tone. "He's busy. Ops is back, and they don't trust Aid or something. So I'm Ratchet-less." He looked up at the darkening sky and vented heavily.

"You spend a lot of time with him."

"Yeah." Sideswipe's mouth curled up at one corner.

"And you get this goofy look every time anyone mentions his name," Bluestreak giggled.

"I do not!" the red mech protested.

"Raaa-tchet," Blue sing-songed teasingly.

Cobalt optics unfocussed and a smile played at their owner's lips. He caught himself almost immediately and swore. "I hate you," he grumbled.

"I know," Blue chirped brightly. "Primus, but you have it bad." He smiled and grabbed Sideswipe by the helm, pulling the mech down into a playful headlock.

Sides had little trouble extricating himself from the hold. He retaliated by pinching a doorwing, with which the Datsun promptly smacked him. A full-on wrestling match ensued, both mechs laughing and taunting each other as they played.

Night had fully fallen by the time they broke apart, armour fluffed out and venting heavily to cool themselves. Sideswipe sighed as he looked at the starry sky. "Aaand it's time to go in. Shift in the morning. 'Night, Blue."

There was no response for a moment, but as he stepped up to the entrance of the crashed ship, he heard a tiny, "Goodnight, Sideswipe."

*****

There were notes in Sideswipe's message queue in the morning. The first bore Prowl's frequency signature, which confused him. The only times the tactician communicated with him were when he was in trouble. The only times he was in trouble any more were when he'd lost his temper and thrashed someone. Which he'd not done in... a month or more?

He opened the message, half-afraid of what he'd find. Instead of the lengthy disciplinary notice he was used to and half expecting, it was only two sentences long.

_Your shift has been reassigned. Ratchet requests your presence in medbay._

He rechecked the queue and sure enough there was a note from the CMO. The timestamp pre-dated that of Prowl's note by about five minutes. The SIC had wasted no time rearranging the schedule.

He lay on his berth a while longer, staring at the ceiling and trying to puzzle out his good fortune. After about a joor of silent contemplation, during which he must've fallen back into recharge, his comm pinged. It wasn't flagged urgent and it wasn't on a frequency he recognised immediately, so he ignored it, not being in a particularly talkative mood, though he wasn't exactly sure why.

In fact, he wasn't really in a mood to do much of anything. His frame felt heavy, the way it did when thoroughly exhausted, but he'd gotten in a complete recharge cycle and his fuel tanks were almost full. His processor didn't seem to want to spin up to full capacity, either, and he sighed.

His comm pinged again, and again he ignored it.

Recharge or Ratchet, those were his current choices. Recharge almost won out, but the thought of spending time, in any form, with the white medic was just too tantalising. _Bluestreak was right_ , he thought, vaguely amused. _I **do** have it bad..._ He finally pulled himself upright and set his feet on the floor.

The door emitted a series of electronic beeps, audial cue of the lock being overridden, then slid open on its own. In the doorway stood the very mech he'd been getting up to see. Sideswipe thought, quite detachedly, that he looked rather peeved.

"What's wrong with you that you can't be bothered to leave your quarters or answer your comm?" the medic grumped.

"I... just got up. I was coming to see you, just hadn't got there yet."

"Obviously. It's halfway through what would have been your shift, so I _know_ you got Prowl's message at least. What's the problem?"

"Nothing." When Ratchet quirked an optic ridge, he sighed. "Honestly, Ratch. Just... thinking."

"Thinking."

"Yeah, that thing where your processor engages and turns things over in your head while you sit around looking serious?"

Ratchet glowered, but there was nothing but amusement behind it. "Hush, you." He cuffed the Lamborghini lightly across the helm. "Let's go."

Sideswipe pouted. "But I'm comfortable _here_ ," he whined, optics dancing in mirth.

The medic promptly sprawled on the other bunk in the room. "Fine with me. I can use the break. So what's got you _thinking_?"

"You know, Ratch," the red mech commented casually, leaning back on his hands, "when you say it like that, it sounds like it's a Bad Thing."

"Sideswipe, when _you_ get to thinking, it might as well be." Ratchet laughed.

Another pout. "Ain't it nice to be loved..."

*****

_~*~Past~*~_

"Hey, Sides! Whoa, you look awful. What's the matter, can't recharge? Yeah, me neither. I heard Sunny's supposed to be released soon, so that'll help, right? I know it'll help me. My charge is so high right now...I can't wait to get him in the berth. Of course, Ratchet will probably restrict interfacing for an orn or two..." Bluestreak's face and doorwings drooped in disappointment.

"Blue, please. Stop," Sideswipe muttered, feeling a bit ill at the mention of the sweet little bot interfacing with his 'brother'.

"I don't suppose _you'd_ be willing to help me? Might relax you enough to recharge, too." The gunner slipped seductively into Sideswipe's lap without waiting for a response, purring and rubbing their chassis together. The crimson frontliner froze as pale lips met his own, optics flaring at the surprisingly pleasant sensation that accompanied the light contact. He moved his mouth awkwardly, trying to mimic Bluestreak's actions, unsure of himself but willing enough to go along with whatever the young mech had planned. It was sure to be a far gentler experience than with Sunstreaker at any rate.

Encouraged, Bluestreak took matters into his own hands - and mouth - and quickly had Sideswipe as worked up as he. The warrior's spike was fully pressurised, erect and glossy with lubricants, and Blue stroked it a few times before positioning himself over it, ready to take it in.

Sides vented explosively as the gunner's dripping valve enveloped the head of his spike. Insensate noises rolled from his vocaliser at the pure pleasure from their joining and his helm lolled back. He knew interfacing was something most mechs enjoyed, but he'd never understood how they could possibly like the pain involved. Nothing he had ever experienced had prepared him for anything like this. There was no discomfort, let alone pain. Just amazing, wonderful _bliss_.

His optics shuttered and his mouth formed a perfect little 'o' with the sensations racing through his circuits. His frame locked and held perfectly still as his very first spike overload ripped through him, transfluid jetting into the Datsun's greedy valve. He tried to commit every sensation to memory, afraid the moment would be lost.

Was this, then, what Sunstreaker felt when he used Sideswipe? No wonder he did it all the time. The only real difference seemed to be Bluestreak's expression of rapture as he rode the spike to his own completion. Clearly it felt good to him, too, and _that_ confused the Lamborghini. How could being spiked feel so good to one mech but excruciating to him?

He finally realised he was over-thinking things and surrendered to the sensations zipping and zinging through his sensor net. He could feel another overload building rapidly, and somehow he could tell the gunner was close to his. Until a shrill voice broke in, that is.

"Sideswipe! Bluestreak! Interfacing in public is _expressly_ forbidden. Cease your actions immediately!"

"Aww, Primus, Red... please?" Bluestreak begged, voice crackling from the high charge in his frame. His hips still rocked slightly, the calipers in his valve cycling, rippling deliciously up and down Sideswipe's spike. "Just this once. We're both wound tight and worried about Sunny and just need – "

" _No!_ " Red Alert spluttered. "I cannot and _will_ not bend the rules, not for anyone. And especially not for _that miscreant!_ " He jabbed a finger at Sideswipe. "Now. Get. _Off!_ "

Bluestreak grinned mischievously at the Security Director's unfortunate choice of words. "If you insist," he chirped and settled himself further down the red mech's rod with a wanton moan.

Red Alert went apoplectic, sensor horns sparking furiously. "You!" he squeaked, vocaliser fritzing. "You, you...! They've _corrupted_ you! I _told_ you they were a bad influence! I told _Prowl_! No one listens to me! And you know what I meant! Remove yourself immediately!"

Blue pouted but obeyed, pulling away slowly. He saw Sideswipe's optics widen in shock, and was that, maybe, a bit of... fear? Blue looked over his shoulder and doorwing as his panel snapped back into place to see Sunstreaker stalk into the lounge. But no, he wouldn't be afraid of his own brother.

The golden Lamborghini stopped abruptly when he saw his lover with... _him_. His spike was exposed, clearly aroused and coated with transfluid and valve lubricants, though the arousal was fading rapidly. He saw Bluestreak's optics brighten and the grey mech moved toward him with a smile and a happy greeting, but his focus was on Sideswipe. He snarled and brushed past his lover, intent on showing his slave exactly to whom he belonged, despite his audience.

"Sunny..." Bluestreak tried again to get his attention. There was no distracting him, though.

He yanked Sides up into a hard, possessive kiss, palming the retracting spike and stroking it back to full extension. He ignored Red Alert's angry shouts and released his own spike, sinking himself hard and deep in the crimson mech.

"Please, Sunny," Sideswipe begged. To anyone else, it would've sounded like an invitation, but their bond was alive with fear and the anticipation of pain and Sunstreaker's consuming anger.

Sunstreaker tapped the chestplates before him impatiently as he thrust roughly. "Open," he demanded.

Red armour parted obediently yet reluctantly and the golden mech forced their chests together, sparks entwining. Fury rolled across the connection, assaulting Sideswipe's spark with waves of pain. _::Mine. You are_ _ **mine**_ _. No one else's. You touch Bluestreak again, your head will roll.::_

_::I... didn't,::_ he protested weakly. His spark hurt, his valve hurt, Primus, his whole frame hurt from Sunstreaker's attack.

_::Bullshit. You had your spike jammed up his valve and you 'didn't touch him'?::_

_::I **didn't** ,::_ he insisted. _::He wanted **you** , but you were in medbay, so he came on to me instead. What should I have done? He **sat** on it. He's a good kid, I don't want to hurt him.::_

_::Right. You did **something** to him. Why else would he do that? Who would even want you? You're just a lousy, ugly piece of shareware. Look at you, full of my spike. You're even **wet**. You get off on fragging every mech you see, don't you? Bluestreak, me... bet you want Spazz Alert next, hmm?::_

The bond echoed with derisive laughter and the yellow demon continued. _::I could probably make some good money selling your 'services'. Bet a bunch of Cons would be willing to pay top dollar for you. Really don't like that idea, though. You're mine, and **only** mine. **No one** else is allowed to touch you, no matter what you have to do to stop them. And you're not allowed to touch them.::_

Sideswipe fell silent in the bond. It wouldn't help him to deny anything, though he desperately wanted to. Anything he might say would just be twisted around and used against him.

Sunstreaker's surge of satisfaction at Sideswipe's seeming surrender was at last eclipsed by that of his overload. Phantom pleasure from the golden mech bled over the bond and triggered Sideswipe's climax, pitiful though it was. As ever, he felt filthy, disgusted, ashamed, and Sunstreaker laughed at him over the bond.

"Are you hearing _anything_ I've been saying!?" Red Alert's voice cut through the haze of overload. "I'll have you two cleaning the _Ark_ 's main exhaust ports for the next vorn if I have my way! This is gross misconduct, and disobeying a direct order! Forget the exhaust ports, I'll have you cleaning the washracks waste tanks with your _glossae_!"

Sunstreaker ignored the rant, as usual, and Red flew into more hysterics, as usual. "You-! You-! I-! Rrgh! Prowl! Now!" He stabbed a finger at the door.

_::I love it when he gets like that.::_ The golden mech smirked and pulled out and away roughly, a small flood of transfluid and lubricants running down Sideswipe's legs to puddle on the floor. He grabbed the red mech by the collar faring and pulled him along out of the lounge.

"See you later?" he asked with a seductive smile as he passed, running a finger along the top edge of one of Bluestreak's sensor wings. The Praxian nodded mutely, optics round and darkened with arousal at the show he'd just been given.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aw yiss. Consensual sexytiems. And still some issues. Always issues.

_~*~Present~*~_

Ratchet started at the soft touch to his shoulder. Few mechs dared touch him, especially when he wasn't expecting it, and those who did usually went for his red parts. It seemed to be something of a game to them. 'Grope the Medic', or something like that. Except it must be 'Grope the CMO', because they never did it to First Aid. Or Swoop. Or anyone else with medical training, for that matter.

He was even more surprised when he turned to find Sideswipe standing there, looking almost nervous. Frightened, but trying to screw up the courage to ask something, as though it would be ill received. The crimson mech was not the type to just go around touching others. Not since sometime before Sunstreaker died. And definitely not without good reason.

Nor was he the angry, sullen mech he'd been immediately after he was freed from the coding that had kept him bound to Sunstreaker. He was somewhere in between now, though more often than not a bit on the moody side. With the exception of a few mechs, he was generally best left to himself, and he seemed to almost prefer it that way.

Ratchet didn't get any further than opening his mouth to ask what the frontliner needed before warm lips were pressed against his own and he was pulled into a not- _quite_ -awkward embrace. Well, that was unexpected. After his initial surprise, the CMO let himself relax into the kiss, giving in to at least this small, long-held desire, arms encircling the red chassis against his. Sideswipe was clearly not well-practised in the art of kissing, but he was passionate.

Fingers trailed down a transformation seam in the medic's side, not slipping inside, just stroking the armour. It was a rather pleasant feeling; not really arousing, but it felt pretty good, anyway. Ratchet returned the favour, wanting desperately to touch, yet not wanting to pressure Sideswipe by getting either of them worked up too much.

Sideswipe pulled away, cooling systems running high, and looked into Ratchet's optics. Silently asking permission to continue, unsure he would get it. Ratchet let a content little smirk settle on his lips and pulled the red mech back to him.

"I won't rush you," he murmured. "Take your time. You can do anything you want, short of causing actual damage – "

Sideswipe recoiled at that statement, horror quite clearly writ across his face. "I won't – can't – oh Primus, Ratch. I don't want to hurt you. _Ever_. I won't let myself turn into _him_."

"And I have every faith in you." Ratchet reached his hand up and laid it aside the black helm, his palm cupping Sides' jaw. He pressed his lips back to the the other's, flicking his glossa lightly across his mouth. After a moment's hesitation, Sideswipe parted his lips, allowing Ratchet access.

The kiss deepened swiftly, becoming quite heated, and Ratchet ground his pelvic unit against the Lamborghini. Sideswipe's vents hitched, then picked back up faster than before. A quiet moan sounded, and Ratchet had to restrain himself from simply taking the red mech right then. He could feel his spike straining against his interface panel and was almost surprised that the thing wasn't dented.

Sideswipe's energy field twined with his own, rife with arousal. There was a stab of fear there, too, and Ratchet pulled away slightly. Just enough to murmur, "I won't hurt you. If you're not sure you want this, not comfortable with anything I do, tell me and I'll stop. I promise."

The red mech gave a lopsided smile and vented shakily. "Just... never done _this_ before. Never that I actually _wanted_ to _."_

Ratchet's spark felt like a fist had wrapped around it and squeezed. The things Sideswipe had been through... and far more, he was sure, than had been revealed through their conversations so far. "Would you prefer to spike me?" he asked suddenly.

The Lamborghini was silent for a long moment, optics dim and flitting everywhere except Ratchet's face. "...No," he responded quietly. "I need to know I won't freak out on you. And... I want you, Ratch. Primus, I _want_ you." He pulled the ambulance closer and kissed him deeply.

The click of Sideswipe's panel unlocking sent heat racing through Ratchet's systems. He groaned into the kiss, but managed to keep his processor about him. Enough, at any rate, to finally remember that fragging in his office wasn't exactly professional, and definitely not what Sideswipe deserved.

He backed off, then led the red mech toward the door behind his desk, the door to his personal quarters. When Sides looked at him funny, he said, "Unless you _want_ it over the desk. I prefer the berth, personally. Much softer, less cluttered."

"Oh," he boggled. His expression was almost comically lost, as though he'd no clue that interfacing could be done on a berth. But he followed quickly and eagerly, hands roaming Ratchet's backside.

Sideswipe moved around the medic to the berth and crawled onto it. He retracted his interface panel and displayed his valve to Ratchet, aft up in the air and shoulders down on the berth, exactly as he'd been trained.

Ratchet shook his helm and gently pulled the crimson mech around. "Not like that, Sides. I want to look at you."

Sideswipe looked confused.

"Don't get me wrong, I like it that way," Ratchet said with a smile, "but I think it's a little impersonal for the first 'face between new lovers. I want to see your face and be able to kiss you. Like this." He suited actions to words and kissed the Countach deeply.

Sideswipe whimpered into Ratchet's mouth. Black hands scrabbled across smooth white plating, trying to find purchase to pull the medic closer. When his fingers caught on an armour seam, he yanked, knocking his lover off-balance.

Ratchet teetered, trying to catch his balance and failing. With a startled yelp he fell forward and barely managed to catch himself before he landed on Sideswipe. Yeah, he could see that; the Lambo in medbay after being half-crushed beneath his much heavier medic's frame. He could just _hear_ the laughter.

Wait. That wasn't just in his processor. He looked down to see indigo optics shining as their owner laughed – _really_ laughed – as he lay flat on his back.

"S-sorry. I didn't mean for _that_ to happen. Really. But at least I can't mistake you for _him_."

Ratchet huffed in mock exasperation, but he was glad to see this side of the mech again. Genuine mirth was a rare thing with Sideswipe any more.

Then his lover quite deliberately arched into him and that exposed, _very_ well-lubricated valve was rubbed across his interface cover and he couldn't think about anything but the mech under him. Sides moaned quietly when Ratchet retracted his panel and his spike pressed against him.

"Mm, Ratch..."

"You're sure about this."

Sideswipe nodded. "As sure as I am that I love you."

Aqua optics widened at the admission. His spark throbbed in its casing and he lowered himself to touch his lips gently to his partner's. "I love you, too," he murmured. "Didn't want to say anything and scare you off."

"Not much you can do that would scare me. Actually, 'm not sure you _can_ scare me off. You're pretty well stuck with me... if you'll have me, anyway."

Ratchet twitched his hips, sliding his spike along Sideswipe's array. "Oh, I think I'll keep you for a good, long time." He pressed the head of his spike to the slick ring of his lover's valve, but hesitated before sliding in.

Sideswipe quirked a lopsided grin and asked huskily, "Are you sure you want this? We can stop if you're uncomfortable..."

Ratchet's optics flared and he pushed forward, hilting himself in the warrior. "Primus," he breathed as that wet heat clenched reflexively around him. "Sides..."

Sideswipe hummed faintly, well able to feel the _pressure_ of the medic's spike in him, but there wasn't much else. Occasionally, the tiny platelets the made up the metal skin of Ratchet's shaft would rub over one of the few sensor nodes that still worked and Sideswipe would cry out in pleasure. Interfacing with Ratchet was so very different from his experiences with Sunstreaker. Red hands were everywhere, skillfully teasing myriad pleasured reactions from his frame. Though he couldn't feel much from his valve, his core temps still rose ever higher, his arousal building to a peak, overload closing in.

Ratchet whispered in his audial and he finally fell over the precipice. His valve clamped down on the spike within, holding on to the medic desperately. A sudden spurt of molten heat against his ceiling node was all he could feel of his lover's release, though Ratchet was quite vocal when it hit.

The tiny platelets flared out slightly with each pulse of the ambulance's spike, practically locking the two of them together and keeping every drop of transfluid within Sideswipe's quivering valve. The trapped fluid put even more pressure on the few working sensor clusters in the soft lining and pushed the Lamborghini into an extended, strut-shaking overload.

"Sides..." Ratchet breathed, gazing down at his lover. He was beautiful to begin with, but caught in the throes of passion, he was _exquisite_.

*****

_~*~Timeskip~*~_

Dark optics flickered on, white lines of static racing through the indigo. Sideswipe grinned lopsidedly and hummed a greeting at his sparkmate, not trusting his vocaliser to work right quite yet.

"You okay?"

"Mmm. _Yeah_ ," he sighed. "Wow. That was fragging amazing, Ratch." He shifted, sending little shocks of pleasure shooting through Ratchet's softened spike and his own valve. Sideswipe's black hand curled around the back of Ratchet's helm and pulled him down into a lazy kiss. "Again?" he asked when they pulled apart.

"Primus, you're insatiable," Ratchet laughed.

"Mm, maybe. Mostly just addicted to you." His hips twitched and he turned it into a sensual roll. "Never knew 'facing could feel like _that_. I mean, it's always been good with you, but... _Primus_."

"I'm surprised you could feel anything, as damaged as you were."

"Not much," Sideswipe admitted. "Some points felt really good if you hit them just right, and the pressure from your spike in me and then _more_ from your transfluid..." He sighed happily. "But _now_... Primus, but I'm glad it's been repaired."

"I wish you'd said something _before_... It didn't have to get that bad."

Sideswipe gave him a long, sad look. "Actually, Ratch, it _did_ ," he said quietly. "Sunstreaker was rough – okay, yeah, _that's_ a major understatement – and it _hurt_. I didn't _want_ to feel anything with him, and he couldn't have cared less anyway. He just found other ways to make me scream. I'd never have said anything while he was still alive, and then after it just never came up. Until you."

"I'm sorry."

The black helm tilted curiously. "For what? It's not _your_ fault."

Ratchet pulled away from his mate and sat on the edge of the berth. "I should have seen it a long time ago. First full physical I gave you. Should have noticed the code, the damage, the fact that you were scared out of your processor of being touched. All that scarring on your protoform... most of that's from him, isn't it?"

Sideswipe's field enveloped the medic with warmth and love as his arms encircled wide white shoulders from behind. "Ratch, don't do this to yourself. It's not your fault, none of it is. I don't have to worry about him any more, and I think I'm learning to cope with what happened pretty well. Got some pretty awesome help with that." He kissed the back of his lover's neck, up and around to one audial receptor. "Come back to berth?" he whispered, field shifting to announce exactly what he wanted to do.

The answering arousal in the white mech's field surprised them both with its intensity, even damped as it was by fading guilt. Sideswipe tugged his lover around and slithered into his lap with the ease and grace of long practice. Their lips met in an almost bruising kiss, each pulling the other closer as if trying to climb into each other's frame. Ratchet's spike bumped against Sides' housing, then poked his lower ab plating as it pressurised swiftly.

Sideswipe hummed into the kiss, quite pleased with himself for distracting his sparkmate from his sudden moodiness. He rubbed against Ratchet, hands roaming the white plating beneath them and setting off as many sensor clusters as they could find. The medic writhed under him, vents blasting hot air as he was worked up to his breaking point. Black hips raised, then lowered over the thick spike jutting between the two, valve caressing every centimetre as it slid smoothly in.

Ratchet moaned long and low as he was engulfed. His hands convulsed on Sides' hips, hard enough to leave impressions of his fingers in the metal. In the years since they'd become lovers, Sideswipe had learned exactly how to rev him up faster than any of his previous lovers, few as they had been. Half the time he didn't even have to do anything other than _look_ seductively at Ratchet.

Black hands pulled the white helm in and Sideswipe swept his glossa across Ratchet's lower lip before sucking it into his mouth. The ambulance's hips bucked, slamming his length deep into his mate. Sides cried out as the sensor clusters at the top of his valve were hit, curling down onto the glass windscreen that comprised Ratchet's chest in strutless pleasure.

The medic thrust blindly into the scorching well surrounding him, completely lost to the rising charge in his systems. The higher it spiralled, the more erratic his movements became. Then, with a quiet click, his chestplates slid apart of their own volition, baring the pale aqua spark behind them.

Sideswipe froze in shock and terror, his arousal completely gone in an instant. His field went cold and sharp with instinctive fear and he struggled desperately to free himself from Ratchet's grip.

That fear finally made it through the fog surrounding his lover's processor. Movement ceased and red hands released their grip on the frontliner's hips, allowing him to scramble off. A swift command saw chestplates close far too fast for comfort, and Ratchet winced even as he reached out to soothe his mate with arms and field.

Slowly, Sideswipe's field smoothed out, though the shaking of his frame took a while longer to completely stop. Ratchet continued to hold him, whispering apologies and words of love into his audial. Eventually, the black helm lifted from where it had been buried in the medic's neck and he looked into aqua optics a bit nervously, searching for any hint of rejection.

When he found nothing but worry and love there, he ex-vented shakily and relaxed into his mate's embrace. "'M sorry, Ratch. I didn't - "

A red hand stroked down his backstrut just right, cutting the frontliner off with his own purr. "It's fine. I wasn't thinking."

Sideswipe gave a half-sparked chuckle. "No, you were pretty focussed on other things..." He sighed. "I didn't think I'd react like that. I mean, I know I'm not ready for sparkmerge yet, but still. Just _seeing_ your spark brought all those memories right back." He shivered, plating rattling until he clamped it tight to his frame. “I've been doing so _good_...”

By-now-familiar anger swept through Ratchet's circuits and his field bristled with it. Even though the red mech was well aware that the emotion wasn't aimed at him in any way, he still cringed a bit. The medic's wrath was definitely something to be feared, but in this case, with the target long dead, there was nothing to take it out on.

A light touch on the glass pane of his chest drew Ratchet from his rather murderous thoughts. "Try again?" Sideswipe asked softly, hope and fear warring in his optics and field. "No merge, I just want to see... Maybe – maybe it was just the surprise?"

Ratchet looked at him warily. "Are you sure?"

"Not really, no," he admitted truthfully. "But I want to try anyway. I've got to get over _him_."

"All right." The medic gave in, though his processor was full of misgivings and trepidation. As calmly as he could, he sent the command to bare his spark.

Sideswipe tensed, steeling himself, as pale light shone through the tiny crack in his lover's armour. While the white plating parted, cobalt optics grew larger, but not in fear. No, it was definitely awe that rounded those optics.

"Ohh..." he breathed, hand reaching tentatively toward the protective crystal casing. "It's _beautiful_."

Black fingertips brushed against the crystal and Ratchet's vents stalled from the intense pleasure. His optics whited out for a klik, then refocussed sharply on his lover. Red hands pulled the Lamborghini close and into a hard, passion-filled kiss.

Sideswipe squeaked in surprise, then melted into his mate when Ratchet's glossa slipped past his lips and into his mouth. He could feel little tendrils of spark energy caress his armour, trying to entice him into revealing his own spark.

And he _wanted_ to. He wanted to give that part of himself to his mate, but a small part of his processor that would not be ignored kept telling him that he was broken, beyond repair, that Ratchet would reject him if he saw all that Sideswipe truly was, that he'd done, even if it was on his master's command. Sparkmerge would let the medic in farther than any hardline connection or processor scan ever had or even _could_ , and he might see something he couldn't live with buried deeply within the warrior's spark. The 'what-ifs' and 'maybes' circled around his processor, creating doubts and breeding fear that he would lose the one thing he wanted more than anything else.

And so Sideswipe's spark remained hidden behind crimson armour locked tight.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mpreg and triggery content ahoy. You are warned.

_~*~Timeskip~*~_

Sideswipe was avoiding him.

Something had been troubling the younger mech for a long time now, and though Ratchet could guess with reasonable surety what that something was, his mate would never talk about it. At first he had simply put it down to the fear of sparkmerge, which was... understandable, knowing what he did of Sideswipe's past. So he tried to keep his spark to himself, though sometimes it had other ideas.

Passionate interfacing waned into the occasional quick tumble in the berth, immediately after which Sideswipe would fall into recharge. And then even that stopped. Through it all, Ratchet had tried to allay his mate's fears, but nothing seemed to help.

And now Sideswipe was hiding out in Bluestreak's quarters. For the past week. Ratchet sighed and swirled the cube of high-grade he held, staring into its shimmering depths as if it contained all the answers of the universe. With a scowl, he downed the liquid and set it aside, next to the empty bottle. If the mech didn't come back on his own in another day or so, he decided, he'd go on a wild Lamborghini hunt.

There seemed to be something of a scuffle in the medbay just outside his office and he growled, rising to break it up. He could use an excuse to get some frustration out of his systems.

"Ratchet! Oh good. Take him, please, he's making me _sick_ with his moping." Bluestreak had hold of one of Sideswipe's sensory horns and was apparently pinching it tightly. The frontliner was bent over beside the shorter Praxian, his face comically twisted in exaggerated pain as he tried to pull away without further injuring himself.

Blue let go and nudged the red mech toward Ratchet. Sideswipe's hand flew to his abused horn, massaging it gingerly and giving his friend a betrayed scowl. He was nudged again with a quiet, "Go on. You need to talk to him. It's not like he's gonna eat your spark."

Sideswipe's expression spoke volumes about his feelings on that subject.

"Well he _won't_. Primus, Sides! If he wanted to eat your spark, he'd have done it _years_ ago." To Ratchet, he said, "He's scared of something and it's related to you, but I don't know h- _oh_.” Baby blue optics went round as the light dawned. “I get it. Spark, right."

The CMO just stared at his mate. "Sides..." he rasped, surprised at how rough his voice sounded. He cycled his vocaliser and thanked Bluestreak. As the young Praxian left, Ratchet studied the mech in front of him.

Sideswipe stared right back, apprehension in his cobalt optics. He finally broke the tense silence between them. "You've been drinking."

"Bit." No point in lying. It was kind of obvious.

A quiet hum. "You really shouldn't. Not that much."

"Takes a lot more t' get me overcharged 'n th' average mech. Y' know that." Ratchet sighed. "C'mon, le's go sit and we can have that talk."

*****

Sideswipe took in the various bottles of high-grade scattered around the living space of Ratchet's quarters, all empty. "Bolts," he muttered to himself. The medic hadn't drank this much in all the time they'd been together.

Ratchet reached out to rest a hand on the frontliner's shoulder, wanting to pull him close, but unsure how the mech would respond. "Sides, I –"

"I'm sorry," Sideswipe cut him off. "I shouldn't have run. Needed some time to think."

Ice gripped Ratchet's spark. Each of his relationships previous had ended with those last words, or something very close to them. His hand dropped, fingers numb. This wasn't happening, not this time. White plating clamped tight to the protoform beneath, as if it could protect his spark from the emotional damage he just _knew_ was coming.

“Ratchet?”

He looked up into very concerned blue optics, not even realising until then that his legs had given out and he was now kneeling on the deck in his quarters. He hadn't even felt the impact.

“Primus, you're drunk. C'mon, up we go, then to the berth. You're gonna have to help a bit, though.” Arms were stuck under his own and lifted, and he decided it would be better just to go along with them than fight. Sideswipe led him through the living area into the berthroom, supporting much of his weight as they went. He was arranged comfortably on the plush padding and a cooling blanket was draped over him.

“...missed you.” Ratchet managed to latch on to a black hand, threading his fingers through the others, though not without difficulty.

“I know, Ratch'. I missed you, too.”

“Stay?” His vision was fritzing, fading in and out, but he could still see those blue optics.

The silver face smiled gently down at him as he faded into recharge. “Always.”

*****

Nothing was pinging at him when his primary boot cycle finished, which was surprising, considering how much he'd had to drink last night and how poorly he'd been recharging since Sideswipe began pulling away. His secondary systems finished booting, and he found he was in his berth with something – or some _one_ – warm wrapped around him. Aqua optics cycled on and he looked down, trying to spot some identifying body part of whomever was cuddling him. He could feel arms around his midsection, but couldn't see them over the rise of his windscreen.

A face rubbed sleepily over the back of his neck, nuzzling and murmuring protests when he tried to turn his head. His systems purred contentedly at Sideswipe's familiar reaction, and he relaxed into his lover's embrace. The mech was not a morning person, which had come as a mild surprise when he'd found out. Apparently it had been Sunstreaker who preferred mornings and the slave code had translated that preference into its host.

...Wait. Sideswipe?

His field flared in surprise and joy, then sobered immediately. He'd been drinking last night, it was likely that the other had stayed only to make sure he was okay. Though that didn't really explain what he was doing still here and curled up around Ratchet...

“Y'r thinking too hard. Stop it.” The voice was muffled in his neck and riddled with sleep-static besides, but it was as amused and warm as the EM field wrapped around him. Black hands moved to settle on the glass of his windscreen and began to rub little circles there, while soft lips began nipping at his audial.

“Why are you here?” Ratchet croaked and immediately reset his vocaliser when he realised how horrible he sounded.

“Does it matter?” Sideswipe stilled, field suddenly proclaiming him to be wide awake and quite nervous. “You asked me to stay.”

“You didn't have to. Know you're not happy here any more.”

The red mech's field bristled briefly, then smoothed out with a tinge of sadness. “I never said I wasn't happy here, Ratch,” he murmured. “Haven't been quite right in the head for a while, though. I just... I just needed some time to think things over. Figure a few things out. I shouldn't have run, and I should've talked to you, but I did, and didn't, and _Primus_!” He vented sharply. “But I think I may have my helm screwed on right this time, and I'm ready to talk, if you want to listen.”

Ratchet extricated himself from the frontliner's grip and sat up. “Talk?” Sideswipe nodded as he settled beside him on the berth's edge. “About what?”

Cobalt optics flicked downward before rising again to meet the medic's. “Everything?” he offered meekly. “Anything you want to know, I'll tell you, or show you if it's too hard to talk about. It's not gonna be easy for me, but I'll do it. For you. Because I finally realised something while I was hiding at Blue's and then again last night: You're not gonna just drop me because of something you _might_ see or hear. I was so terrified... but you're not him. Never him. You've never given up on me, and I've already told you some pretty awful stuff.”

And wasn't that the truth. Some of the things Sunstreaker would have Sideswipe do – not just in interfacing, but to some of the mechs they'd downed on the battlefield – were just plain horrifying. The stuff of nightmares. And it was all just because he _could,_ and he knew it. Sadistic bastard.

Ratchet turned and pulled Sideswipe onto his lap, kissing him thoroughly and leaving him dazed and panting. “If you want to talk, I'll listen, but right now I'm just happy to have you back.”

*****

_Sideswipe was purging again. Third time this joor. He couldn't keep anything down. Sunstreaker clearly heard from where he was painting because he called out, "Make sure you clean that up!" The noblefemme sitting for him tittered._

_He retched until there was nothing left in his tanks to purge. And then retched some more. He knelt on the floor of the berthroom beside his cot, propped up on shaking arms and feeling sick and humiliated. A little tug on his spark made him wince reflexively and begin to narrow the connection there; a pull through the bond was never a good thing. Another tiny tug and a short pulse of **contentment-curiosity** , and he knew it wasn't the bond. Not with Sunstreaker, anyway. Exhilaration bloomed, followed immediately by crippling dread. He swiftly and desperately damped the bond with his master as best he could._

_What would Sunstreaker do when he found out Sideswipe was sparked? It was insane to think he would be allowed to keep the sparkling. Sunstreaker would take it from him one way or another, whether it be actually selling it away to the highest bidder or turning it against him somehow._

_A heavy hand on his shoulder pulled him back suddenly and threw him to the floor on his aft. "What are you hiding?" the yellow mech demanded. He threw the bond wide open and began probing for answers._

_Sideswipe stayed just one step ahead, barely managing to keep Sunstreaker from discovering his new secret. A snarl from the handsome mouth and Sides found himself slammed up against the wall without recollection of how he got there. Something in his head rattled loose and vertigo assaulted him. As the room spun sickeningly, Sunstreaker ripped the crimson chestplates apart, baring the pale blue spark that pulsed behind them._

_Golden plating parted and their sparks were forced together, revealing every thought and emotion Sideswipe had to the monster who owned him. There was no way he could hide anything from a direct connection, and despair set in. He felt Sunstreaker's satisfaction as he ripped through memory files at random, then sudden rage at the discovery of the newspark._

_Sunstreaker tore himself away and stared hard at his slave's spark, searching. His hand caressed it in a mockery of tenderness, turning it, then his fingers found the thin thread of energy that connected the tiny newspark to its parent._

_Suddenly Sideswipe realised exactly how Sunstreaker planned to take his newspark away. "_ No _..." he breathed. His optics brightened in desperation, lines of static rushing through them, and he wanted nothing more than to_ get **away** , _but not daring to struggle. Not with that hand where it was. "Primus, no... Please don't. I'll do anything. Please, M-master." It felt degrading to call him by that formal title, but what about his situation wasn't? And he would willingly say and do far worse if it would let him keep the bitlet._

_Slowly, looking directly into Sideswipe's horrified, pleading optics, Sunstreaker smiled and brought his claws together with a sharp_ snick _, severing the fragile connection and snuffing the little life he'd helped create. Sideswipe shrieked in agony and loss as he felt a piece of his spark die._

_The artist dropped the red mech unceremoniously and walked off back to his studio. Sideswipe crumpled to the ground, bereft, and keened softly to his lost sparkling._

_Maybe... maybe he **should** have struggled..._

Ratchet very carefully and deliberately pulled himself away from the hardline and his mate, each motion made with surgical precision. White armour flared wide, making the medic seem almost twice as large as usual. Tightly-checked fury shivered through his EM field and he paced the too-small berthroom, looking for a way to vent that wouldn't injure Sideswipe.

Tears streaked down the warrior's face from the remembered pain and loss of the forced termination of his creation. Of all of his memories, of everything that Sunstreaker had ever done to or ordered of him, that had been the worst. He watched his mate as he tried to work through the outrage provoked by the wanton destruction of an innocent life which was so very obviously _wanted_. Being a sparked and coded medic, it was Ratchet's job to preserve life, but he seemed to take this extremely personally. Then again, he seemed to take everything Sunstreaker had done to Sideswipe rather personally.

“Ratch,” the frontliner rasped. The medic paid no attention, lost as he was in his anger. He tried again. “Ratch.”

With a roar, Ratchet finally spun out of his pacing to land a solid and heavy punch to the wall. Sideswipe heard joints crack on impact and winced. The red hand pulled slowly out of the deep dent it had left in the orange wall, traces of energon left behind and glittering on scraped knuckles. “How... why... Primus!” He spun and looked at his mate with wide, pale optics, horror and sorrow writ plainly across his face. He gathered the red frame in his arms, holding him gently, offering as much comfort as he was able. “Primus, Sides. How could... When did... _Why_?”

“Before the war. Right after my final upgrades. He... took me as often as he could. Spark and frame. Wanted to break me, he said, teach me my place. I didn't know what he was doing, not really. I didn't know anything about sparklings at that point, and he couldn't have cared less. All I knew was it hurt like the Pit and I was sick all the time. But when I felt it reach out to me, and realised what it was...”

“You wanted it.”

Sideswipe hummed in sad agreement. “I'd have done anything to keep it. My sparkling. I didn't even care that he'd contributed, it was _my_ sparkling. But after all these vorns, I'm... relieved that it didn't have to suffer living with him. I can't even begin to think of what he might have done.” In desperate need of a subject change, black hands reached for red, pulling a soft cleaning cloth from subspace, and wiped away the energon. “You should get that taken care of.”

Ratchet waved the concern off. “In the morning. It's not that bad.”

His mate fixed him with the evil optic. “Now, Ratch. You'd never let me go like that. Give me an audialful.” He snorted. “'Not that bad.' Here, I'll do it if you talk me through. I'm not real sure about the fine mechanics in hands.”

The medic grumbled a bit, but gave in more gracefully than he usually did. “All right, first things first...”

*****

_~*~Timeskip~*~_

Sideswipe crept up behind the white mech in their private washrack, watching the way the frame moved under the spray of the solvent. Heat pooled behind his interface panels from the sight of that delectable red aft and he just barely managed to suppress a hard rev of his high-performance engine. Moving swiftly, he moulded himself to his mate's frame before Ratchet could acknowledge his presence. The medic jumped slightly at the way Sideswipe ground into him, then, recognising the field, pushed back, rubbing against the red chassis.

One black hand reached around to toy with the seam between windscreen and armour, while the other went directly for Ratchet's crotch. Sideswipe kissed and nipped at one white audial before moving down to his lover's neck and nibbling at the lines there. A not-so-quiet moan from the medic prompted a smile and a murmur from the frontliner, promising pleasure to come.

Warm solvent pelted down on them as Sides turned the medic around and pressed him up against the wall, claiming his mouth in a passionate kiss. Ratchet was surprised – pleasantly so – that his lover was being so bold, and wondered what had pushed him into this unusual mood.

Not that he was complaining, mind you. No. This was definitely not complaining.

“Want you,” the younger mech gasped. “Want your valve around me. Please.” Fingers reached for, then brushed across the valve cover and it popped open, allowing Sideswipe to dip into the wet heat there. He pressed a single digit inside, rubbing across all the sensor nodes he could find before withdrawing the lubricant-coated finger and raising it to his lips. Optics shuttered at the first taste as he licked and sucked the fluid off slowly, savouring the taste of his mate.

Ratchet yanked the warrior down into a hard kiss, plunging his glossa into Sideswipe's mouth alongside the finger, tasting himself faintly. He palmed the black spike cover and eagerly stroked the pressurising spike as the panel whisked aside. Red fingertips danced along the length and circled the head, teasing the sensors there, working his lover into a higher state of arousal.

Sideswipe moaned and bucked into Ratchet's hand, spike straining. “Ratch!” he grunted. He grabbed the medic's thigh and hiked it up around his hip, knocking the red hand away and leaning into the white frame. The blunt tip of his spike nudged into the valve opening and his frame shuddered as he sheathed himself. Calipers cycled down around him, drawing little pleasured noises from his vocaliser. He rocked his hips against Ratchet's, then began to _move_.

It was awkward, with the height difference and the fact he couldn't hold the medic off the ground for long, but it felt so _good_. Exactly what his frame had been needing, practically pleading for all shift. It wouldn't take long. He could feel the overload building swiftly, pressure ramping up, charge crackling across his frame until –

Release.

His body locked up, a silent scream on his features as transfluid burst from him to flood his mate's valve. His spike continued to pulse, jet after jet washing over sensitised nodes in the valve lining, pushing Ratchet higher, but not quite enough for his own overload.

When he came fully back to himself, they were on the berth and Ratchet was riding his spike hard. The air shimmered over them, testament to exactly how revved up they were. He drew up his knees for leverage and thrust hard into his lover on his next downstroke. Deep aqua optics, darkened with desire, flickered and flared at the extra stimulation and the white mech cried out his pleasure.

Sideswipe felt his armour locks click open and hesitated for a split-second. His lover continued to move over him, oblivious as he chased his overload. Red plating separated slowly as the command to expose his spark was sent, and he reached up to caress the pale helm of his mate.

All of Ratchet's attention was centred on the slide of the spike in his valve and the rising charge. He was so close, just a little more would tip him over. He looked down at Sideswipe's face, beautiful in their shared passion, and finally registered the pale blue glow. His spark stuttered and flared and the charge he got just from looking at the spark he'd wanted for so long pushed him right into a hard overload. His frame arched and he keened, electricity jumping and skittering across his frame onto Sideswipe's.

The warrior caught him before he could collapse, stroking gently over smooth plating. Ratchet settled a hand next to the exposed spark chamber and lightly ran his fingers down the side, drawing little shudders and moans from the crimson mech.

“Ratch... want you. Want this.”

Deep blue optics bored into his with a certainty that could not be denied. White armour slid aside whisper-quiet, his own spark chamber moving forward and locking into position. Ratchet leaned down and dropped soft kisses across Sideswipe's parted lips, aligning their chests. He could already feel his spark trying to slip out to merge with the other. “You're sure.” He didn't want any shred of doubt to colour this experience for either of them.

“Absolutely.” The spark chamber spiralled open and tendrils of energy reached for him, his spark. His own answered and they sank into each other, Sideswipe's awe flooding the merge.

There was a hint of nervousness there, too, and a distinct sense that the crimson frontliner was at a loss for what to do now. Ratchet pulsed his love out, gently taking control of the merge, leading his lover deeper into himself. A flash of memory pulled Sideswipe's attention and he pounced unthinking upon it.

//This...// He hesitated when he recognised the main medbay in Iacon, not long after he and Sunstreaker had joined the Autobots. Mechs cluttered the diagnostic berths, some more damaged than others, a few completely missing limbs. He flinched when he realised that the nearly-unconscious mech under his hands was Sunstreaker, and then flinched again when he saw his own battered scarlet chassis lying on the next berth. //This is – //

//The first time I saw you two. I wasn't CMO yet – that was Rivet, the one working on you. Thought for sure we'd lose you, too, but you pulled through. Hate to say it, but none of us really liked either of you at that point. Between getting slagged in battle and the infighting damage we had to repair... And then Sunny was about as cuddly as Megatron and no one had any clue what _your_ glitch was.//

//Can't really blame you. Not the way we were then.//

Ratchet pulled Sideswipe away from the memory before he turned too moody. //I love you, Sides. Nothing will change that now. I've loved you for a long time, waited for years to be able to show you how much.// He drew his mate's attention to a string of memories stretching back centuries – before Sunstreaker died, before, even, the _Ark_ 's launch from Cybertron. The love in those early scenes was very different from what the medic felt now, but it was undeniable that he had indeed come to care for Sideswipe even then.

After that battle where Sunstreaker had died, everything began to change. Sideswipe watched as the feelings Ratchet held for him morphed over time, strengthening and solidifying into their current state. He backed off and out of the merge, overwhelmed and slightly frightened by the sheer _depth_ of emotion in his lover's spark, and Ratchet let him go.

*****

Sideswipe bustled around the berthroom of their quarters, straightening up anything out of place and arranging small groups of custom-made, Autobot-scale candles on any flat, stable surface large enough to support them. He looked around the room, hoping everything would go as planned tonight. Ratchet should be off shift shortly.

A quick check of his finish sent him scrambling for the polish – and not the kind he usually used, either. He'd begged, wheedled, and cajoled Tracks into letting him have a single jar of his best polish for the occasion, and even then had to trade two of his off days before the mech would let him have it. Of course, Ratchet was well worth it. And if all went well, they wouldn't be _sparkmates_ any more...

When he was certain his plating was gleaming, he returned to the berthroom, leaving the washrack behind. A quick check of the time and he made the rounds, lighting each group of candles as he worked his way around the room, then out to the living area to wait. It shouldn't be long. Five minutes, maybe.

Five minutes stretched into ten, then then into twenty. Sideswipe kept checking the chronometer and fidgeting. He didn't want to comm Ratchet to ask when he'd be coming because that would definitely tip off the medic that something was up. It wasn't part of the routine they'd settled into. He didn't want to go out into the medbay for the same reason. Plus the shiny finish would attract far too much attention. Another ten minutes passed and he pulled himself off the sofa with a heavy sigh and a heavier spark. He'd better put out those candles before they turned into puddles of wax.

*****

“Sides?” Ratchet called as he stepped into their quarters, later by far than he'd expected to be. Aqua optics took in the unusually tidy space and the two cubes of high-grade on the table by the sofa. Now that was a shade he'd not seen in centuries. He picked one up and took a sip, curious if it actually was what he thought. Primus, it _was_! Where in the universe had Sideswipe managed to get _Praxian_ high-grade?

His spark sank as it became obvious that his lover had intended for this night to be special. And a surprise – Sides had never let on that he was planning anything. He should have commed, let Sides know that he'd been held up. But maybe it wasn't too late? He snagged the other cube as well and stole quietly through the berthroom door.

Sideswipe lay curled on his left side, helm pillowed on his left arm while his right curled into his chest. Ratchet smiled and set the high-grade on the berthside table next to a half-melted cluster of large candles. His grin grew and he shook his helm at the efforts his mate had gone to.

“Sides,” he purred in the frontliner's audial as he crawled up next to the larger frame. He ran light fingers over a transformation seam and got a mild twitch in response. He tried again, with slightly more satisfying results. Each brush of his hand brought a better reaction than the previous, and pretty soon he had dim cobalt optics half-focussed on him. “Hey.”

“Mm. Hey, yourself, sexy. Waited for you.” A black finger traced the seam between glass and metal on Ratchet's chest.

He shivered, vents hitching at the wave of _want_ that washed over him from his lover. “Sorry. I should have let you know I was going to be late.”

“Well, you're here _now_.” And damn if he wasn't doing that sultry little purr that just melted Ratchet's struts.

He moaned as he was pulled down into a scorching kiss, and higher processing power vanished under the onslaught. Primus, the mech could kiss. His glossa thrust into Ratchet's mouth, hot and slick, then withdrew to lick faintly at his lips. Ratchet's lower lip was drawn in and suckled, Sideswipe's denta grazing across the thin plating before releasing it again. “So...”

Aqua optics flickered as the medic vented hard and struggled to bring his systems back under control. Sideswipe sat up, draping an arm around white shoulders and reached for the high-grade Ratchet had set down. “Here. I got this for you. I asked around and found out it's your favourite. I was gonna surprise you when you came off shift...” Bright optics flicked downward almost shyly as his voice trailed off.

Ratchet wrapped his field around the younger mech and took a drink. “So, what's the occasion? Candles, expensive high-grade... you've gone to some trouble tonight. Then I had to ruin it.”

“No,” Sideswipe protested. “Nothing's ruined, Ratch. Maybe not quite the surprise I'd imagined, but not ruined.”

“You're not going to tell me, are you?” Ratchet smirked. “I was late and messed up your plans, and now you're going to torture me with it.”

Sides grinned. “Well, the original plan was to seduce you for starters, but I don't know if I can do that now that you're expecting it and all...”

“Seduce me, hmm? Don't think you'll have to do much. I'm already in your berth.” His engine revved a bit.

“Technically it's yours.”

“I should be seducing you, then. Is that what you're telling me?”

“Yes. No. I – mmph.” When Ratchet released him, the red mech was venting heavier than usual. He gathered his scattered processor and gave a wicked grin. “Think I'll have some more of that, thanks,” he murmured and claimed the medic's mouth once again. “Mm. Taste good.”

“Where did you manage to find Praxian high-grade, anyway?”

Sideswipe looked at his lover archly. “Not revealing my sources.”

Ratchet smirked. “I'll tell Prowl.”

A black hand flapped nonchalantly. “Be my guest. Interestingly enough, our beloved cop-bot is not above taking bribes. Not of the Praxian commodities variety, anyway. And as long as I can keep them coming, he's more than happy to look the other way.”

“Brat. You've got this all worked out, don't you?”

Denta flashed in a brilliant smile. “Pretty much.”

“Hmph. One thing I don't understand, though, Sides.”

Cobalt optics flickered. “What's that?”

“We share a berth. You can have me any time you want me. Why all of this? The high-grade, this whole setup,” he gestured around the room, “the fact that you got into Tracks' polish...” The medic grinned at the somewhat sheepish expression he was given. “You were building up to something a bit bigger than just seduction, lover.”

He felt the other mech's field change like a switch had been flipped. All the cocky self-assuredness was immediately replaced by a stuttering nervousness, hope and fear battling beneath. Ratchet held his own field steady, softly twined with the frontliner's, not pushing and not retreating, simply waiting for Sideswipe to work through whatever was bothering him.

It took a surprisingly short amount of time before the field against his smoothed out. It still spiked occasionally, but for the most part Sideswipe had calmed.

The crimson mech rose fluidly from the berth to pace the room. When Ratchet made to rise as well, he was waved back to sitting as the warrior moved to stand directly in front of him. White helm craned upwards, aqua optics searching out cobalt in curiosity.

Sideswipe sucked in a large draught of air and held it, attempting to calm his racing processor. If he asked, what would Ratchet say? The only way to know for sure was to just go for it. He dumped the overheated air in a _whoosh_ and dropped to his knees, cycling air through his vents rapidly. “Ratch, I–“ his vocaliser cut out then, spitting static until he rebooted it. “I love you. I want to keep you forever, never let you go.” He took red hands in his own, gripping tightly, his plating rattling along his frame. “Ratchet, will you be my bondmate?”

The medic stared, not quite expecting a proposal. It was only when those black hands loosened on his and Sideswipe began to back away, field and plating clamped down tight, that he recovered himself. He grabbed the frontliner by the shoulders and tugged, crushing their mouths together and pouring all his love into the kiss and through his field.

“So,” Sides asked when they broke apart, lips ghosting over Ratchet's, “was that a yes or a no?”

“Pretty sure... was a yes. Maybe... got lost in translation. Try again?” the white mech panted out, optics bright.

“Mm. Would you bond with me? Be mine forever, to the Well and beyond?”

“Yesss. I'd have asked you a long time ago, but I have this thing about not pushing you.”

Sideswipe snorted. “You push me all the time. Onto the berth, against the wall, onto your desk... I could go on.”

Aqua optics rolled. “Not what I meant and you know it. Back to this bonding thing. Ceremony or no?”

“Oh, ceremony, definitely. I think Optimus would be crushed if he didn't get to do his little Prime-ly thing.” He grinned, rising to sit next to his mate. “And besides, I want everyone to know that they need to keep their hands off you.”

Ratchet laughed. “I think you made that abundantly clear when you handed Smokescreen his aft last vorn.”

“He was groping you. I let him know it wasn't appreciated.” He nibbled on a white audial, sending shivers down Ratchet's spinal struts.

“He was also drunk off his skidplate. You're cute when you get all protective. And he won't even be in the same room with me to this day. Especially not alone.”

“I'd say I'm sorry, but I can't bring myself to lie like that.” Silver lips quirked against the medic's neck with his words. “Enough talking. More doing. Need more practice if we're going to be bonding, you know.” He growled and pounced the CMO, bearing him to the berth.

Ratchet laughed again, the sound ringing beautifully in Sideswipe audials. “Practice sounds... _perfect,”_ he murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if this is done here or not. I'm kinda vacillating on the subject. I've got the start of an epilogue of sorts, but they're not talking to me right now, so I don't know if it'll get finished. But I think the story could end here fairly well, too, so I'm going to mark this as complete.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the ride.

**Author's Note:**

> If you feel like it, leave a comment or critique. I love knowing what my readers like and don't like about my stories.


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